


Arcanum

by cherryblossombomb



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryblossombomb/pseuds/cherryblossombomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has a panic attack when the party is attacked by bandits and discuss selling them into slavery. Anders ends up being the one who has to calm him down, and finds out he has them regularly.</p><p>The rating will go up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Hands, fingers – nails digging into his skin, magic cutting into his lyrium markings. Stumbling, staggering – falling into silk, held down with an invisible force that cut him like ropes, and no, don’t struggle, don’t move, don’t react._

_“Fenris—”_

He lurched awake, gasping on air and then choking on it. His hands flew to his throat, grasping for the collar – but it wasn’t there. No, of course not. He dropped his hand and looked at it as if it had answers. He wasn’t wearing a collar. He wasn’t being choked with magic. He was in Kirkwall, where it smelled of drains and copper and rats. Hawke… He knew Hawke. Hawke was in Kirkwall, and Hawke refused to let Fenris go back to Danarius. Danarius was dead.

So why was he still having these nightmares?

A sharp knock jolted him out of his thoughts, and he stopped shaking only to jump and nearly fall off the bed. He ran a trembling hand through his unkempt hair and scratched the back of his neck. It still felt… weird. Like there was something there. He tried to swallow, but it was too dry. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he—?

_No_ , he told himself. He clenched the threadbare sheet in his fists and stared at the ground. “There’s nothing there,” he muttered. “I’m fine. I’m _fine_.” But he still couldn’t swallow and his hands hadn’t stopped shaking.

_Knock knock knock._

He pushed himself up. That was Hawke’s knock. The knock he used when Fenris was taking too long, and it sounded impatient because usually when Fenris took too long to answer it meant he was ignoring or avoiding Hawke. Fenris grunted. _I hope he’s not going to think that…_

He didn’t remember walking to the door, but suddenly he was in front of it, and then it was open, and there was Hawke, smiling as usual.

Fenris swallowed. And breathed.

“Hawke,” he managed.

Hawke’s grin softened when he saw Fenris. “Hey, Fenris,” he said, cocking his head slightly and raising a brow. “You all right? You seem a bit… tense.” He made an exaggerated waving gesture towards Fenris’s chest.

He realised his arms were folded tightly and quickly unfurled them, and then shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “I’m fine,” he said.

Hawke couldn’t hide his concern, and Fenris hoped he wouldn’t push. Hawke cared too much for so many people, people who didn’t deserve it – like him.

“Okay,” he finally said, slowly, but then brightened again. “I was hoping you might join me on a little outing.”

Fenris was torn between groaning and leaping out the door. He didn’t feel up to spending time with whoever else Hawke would be bringing, but he really didn’t want to stay in the mansion right now. So he settled on sighing, grabbing his blade, and pushing past Hawke to leave. He heard Hawke shut the door for him and bit the inside of his lip. He didn’t deserve his kindness.

“What is it we’ll be doing today then?” he asked, relieved his voice didn’t waver.

Hawke strolled beside him, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Not much,” said Hawke, “just a bunch of bandits blocking the road outside the city. Charging a toll or something? These two elf kids said they were robbed by them and didn’t even get to leave.”

Fenris sneered. “Of course.”

“We’ll take care of them, don’t worry,” Hawke said, nudging Fenris. “Anyway, we’re gonna go get their stuff back.”

Fenris almost smiled.

He trailed just behind Hawke as they went to pick up his other companions. Merrill was coming, he surmised when Hawke walked towards the alienage. That was unfortunate. Varric was one of the least annoying. Even Isabela would be preferable. She was fine. A bit talkative, and made too many implicative remarks that made things awkward sometimes, but fine. But Hawke enjoys the company of all his dysfunctional friends, and on this particular day he was bringing the blood mage. What fun.

Fenris stayed back as Merrill tripped out her front door and Hawke caught her arm. “Oh! Sorry,” she squeaked, jumping back. “I didn’t mean to fall on you. I didn’t hurt you, did I? Not that I could, really.” She shuffled awkwardly and smiled like it was easy. Hawke was probably smiling too, but Fenris didn’t bother to check. “Hello, Fenris!”

_Ah, they’re aware of my presence again._ “Merrill.”

“All right, let’s grab Anders, and then we’ll head out,” Hawke said.

“You need _two_ other mages?” Fenris said before he could stop himself. Ugh, he thought he’d learnt not to blurt that out around Hawke.

Hawke sighed, but didn’t seem too affected by it. “Anders is a healer,” he said calmly.

“You said this mission is a simple one,” Fenris couldn’t help but argue. “Why would we need a healer?”

Hawke didn’t answer this time, and Fenris decided to remain quiet. He stared at the floor until they reached Anders’s clinic and didn’t bother listening to their conversation. Anders didn’t try to greet him, and Fenris didn’t care to look at him. He was the source of most of his disagreements with Hawke. Or, well. At least in part. It was usually about Hawke’s liberal views on mage rights, but Anders came into that equation, even if his name wasn’t always brought up.

“Maybe you don’t really understand the difference between spirits and demons,” Anders said.

Fenris’s head snapped up and opened his mouth to retort, before realising he was talking to Merrill, who looked uncharacteristically exasperated.

“Did I ask you?”

_She has a point, they are the same thing_ , thought Fenris. It was a strange thing, to agree with the blood mage.

“Of course it matters!” Anders said, throwing up a hand. Fenris twitched. “Demons turned their back on the Maker. Spirits…” he started, then caught Fenris’s eye. He hadn’t realised he’d been looking at the mage, but he met his gaze with a glare. Anders scowled back. “Spirits were the first children of the Maker, but He turned His back on them to dote on His mortal creations.”

Merrill frowned. “Your ‘Maker’ is a story you humans use to explain the world,” she said, turning away. “We have our own stories. I don’t need to borrow yours.” She quickened her pace to catch up with Hawke, obviously bothered by Anders’s words.

Fenris couldn’t really understand her offence. He… didn’t really have anything to believe in. Danarius saw to that. But then, elves didn’t have many stories left to remember. Perhaps Merrill treasured the ones she had; she had been taught by her clan, he supposed. A privilege Fenris could not recall ever having.

“Forcing more of your beliefs on others,” he said, and Anders narrowed his eyes. “Seems like a habit.”

“You know we share the same beliefs on blood magic,” Anders reminded him.

“But perhaps not on elves.”

For a second, Anders looked horrified; for a second, Fenris almost revelled in it.

“Oh, blast it,” Anders muttered, rubbing his face. “I didn’t mean to sound – to _be_ so… stupid.”

Fenris blinked. “I confess I never expected you to admit it in front of me.”

Anders scowled at him for the remark, but he was being honest. Finally, the blond sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to apologise to her later.”

Fenris stared at him for a moment, just until Anders glanced back, and then turned to glare at a rock. He was so quick to acknowledge he’d upset Merrill – the blood mage – with his ignorance about something he didn’t understand, but when he didn’t understand what Fenris had gone through? No, it was always, “but mages have suffered the same thing!”

He hated travelling with mages. With Anders. Fuck Anders.

He was starting to fall into his usual mantra of insulting Anders in his head, when Merrill’s shriek ripped through his ears. He looked up to see blood spurt out of Hawke’s shoulder and the man collapsed to his knees. Fenris dashed towards him, only to be blown back. He crashed against the ground but spared no time in jumping back to his feet.

“Mage, heal him!” he shouted.

Anders turned a wide-eyed glare on him. “Don’t you think I’m trying?” he snapped. “They’ve cast some kind of glyph, I can’t—”

Fenris almost missed it: a woman, almost invisible, appeared behind Anders and stuck her dagger in his back.

“Get OFF!” he bellowed, lashing out with his blade and slicing at her. She leapt backwards, but not quick enough to completely dodge Fenris’s attack. She grabbed clumsily at her side where blood began to seep from a fresh wound, and staggered backwards. She looked up, panicked, but Fenris’s next attack was halted. He… couldn’t move. He could see a green glow surrounding him, just like Hawke. _Magic._

He could hear struggling and wasn’t sure who was even fighting. Hawke was probably still immobilised. Merrill couldn’t do much damage, especially not by sacrificing her health to do so. Anders… was hurt. He must have had some poultices though, right? He had to, he was a bloody healer. Ugh, why did he have to get hurt? He was a mage like these ones, couldn’t he do something about his and Hawke’s predicaments?

Obviously not, because he still. Couldn’t. Move.

He wanted to – to shout. Scream. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move or open his mouth or have any control. He had to get out, to save them, but—

“What’s this, then?” A tanned, olive-skinned man stepped into his vision. Was he from Tevinter? No… No, he had an Antivan accent. Fenris was just… He was panicking, and he had to stop to kill these bastards and help Hawke. The man reached out and grabbed Fenris’s chin and he wanted to _bite_ him. He wanted to bite off his fingers and spit them at the quivering girl who’d stabbed Anders, but he couldn’t fucking move and this filth was _touching_ him and he couldn’t do anything about it. “Don’t you look… different.” Fenris hoped he was glaring. “What are these markings, eh? Quite pretty, really.”

_A bed, silk sheets, big hands, shackles. “Aren’t you pretty, Fenris?”_

What? What was happening? Why – why weren’t they out of this yet? Where was Hawke? Was he still—

“Elves always are,” another woman chimed in, flicking her sword and letting the blood splatter against the ground. “He’d sell for a bit, I’d wager.”

_“They all want you. To buy you. But you don’t want to leave, do you, Fenris? You’re such a good boy.”_

He couldn’t breathe. The man’s face was melting into the green glow around him and he couldn’t see properly.

“Those kids chose some good merchandise to send,” he said, chuckling. “They’re learning well.”

“Learnt it from the best, didn’t they?”

He could only hear their laughter and a shrill ringing blurring together in a dizzying cacophony. He still couldn’t he move. He needed to get out. He had to help the others… He had to kill these people.

“Throw me the rope.”

_Rope. Bruised wrists. Blood on red sheets. “This is your own fault. You know I don’t like doing this to you.”_

“STOP!”

The green vanished, replaced by a flash of blue. The ringing got louder, but they weren’t laughing anymore. He heard… fighting. He should be fighting. Was he? He couldn’t feel this blade… Where was it? Where was Mercy—

He felt dizzy. He was going to be sick. It was almost like when he was drunk, cradling a bottle of aggregio pavali like it was a comfort, which it was but it shouldn’t have been because it belonged in Danarius’s mansion – it was Danarius’s, and Fenris giving in and drinking it every night was like relying on his old master. He was weak when he drank and he was weak right now, immobilised and useless and were they – was Hawke okay?

 

* * *

 

Anders didn’t have time to use a poultice when Hawke was caught in that glyph, so he downed a quick potion and stumbled to his feet. _Still bleeding_ , he thought, frowning, _but it isn’t too deep_. He looked up and clenched his staff tightly when he saw Hawke struggling against the magic. It seemed to be wearing off; Anders caught his hands twitching. He would just have to distract their enemies while Hawke got out of it.

“This one isn’t half bad! Better than the scrawny things we usually get,” someone said, eyeing Hawke up and down. Anders clenched his jaw as his fingers buzzed with repressed magic. “Most anyone would pay for this. Could do some hard labour, I’d wager.”

“You’re _disgusting_ ,” Anders spat. The woman barely turned before she was thrown backwards into the mountainside, falling limp immediately. The other bandits gathered around Anders, raising their weapons.

_Merrill, where’s Merrill?_ His eyes darted about the area before he found her, holding her own against three men. Rogues? Maybe one was a warrior. She seemed fine, save for some blood in her palms smearing over her staff, but Anders suspected that was her own doing. He didn’t like it, but she knew what she was doing. Probably. Hopefully.

Anders sent flurry of ice towards the group surrounding him. They all staggered back, gasping and clutching at their chests. Refusing to relent – he couldn’t, Hawke wasn’t free yet, despite his efforts – he fired bolts of electricity towards them until they couldn’t stand anymore.

“Fenris!” Hawke shouted as he broke out from the glyph, and Anders whirled around to see the elf trapped in one of the glyphs.

_Great_ , he thought bitterly, _now he’ll be even grouchier than usual on the way home._

Nevertheless, he followed Hawke, ready to help beat down the three remaining bandits. One fell before he reached them, and he saw an out of breath Merrill holding out her staff. Huh, she’d done well. She didn’t seem too worse for wear, either.

Fenris… didn’t usually need help. And he wasn’t usually the last one to defeat his opponents. And he was never beaten by Merrill before.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?”

Anders looked back at Hawke. He’d grabbed one of the bandits by the collar, hefted him up to meet his eyes, and Anders didn’t often see Hawke _threaten_ people. Forever the peacemaker, he was most often diplomatic towards everyone he could be. He found excuses to help nearly every bloody person they passed. Except when it came to his friends. And right now, something was wrong with Fenris and someone was going to pay.

“It is just business, my friend,” the man said, trying and failing to sound placating. Hawke tugged his collar tighter and the man cleared his throat. “Look, I realise… we have been outmatched. Let us go, and you can keep your elf.”

“He isn’t _my_ elf,” Hawke snapped. “He’s his own man who happens to be my friend. Now, answer me,” he said, eyes narrowing. “What did you do to him?”

The Antivan opened his mouth, but snapped it shut when Hawke’s glare darkened and his staff pressed against his throat. Magic crackled at the top. “I only paralysed him. Temporarily,” he hastily assured him before any more magic could escape Hawke’s staff. “He should be fine now.”

“But he’s not.”

Anders blinked. What, was he wounded or something? Hawke shouldn’t be too upset by that; they got injured all the time. Nonetheless, he rifled through his bag to grab a poultice, but when he turned to toss it to Fenris, he froze.

Fenris hadn’t moved. He was still standing, but his head was bowed and his shoulders tensed and he was shaking. Anders assumed he was pissed off about how the fight when down, and how he hadn’t been able to fight back against the mage, but… no. That wasn’t it. At least not all of it. Otherwise he would’ve marched up to the man and slammed his fist into his chest as soon as he could move. But he wasn’t moving.

Well, Hawke was busy with the bandit and Merrill… was nervously hopping from foot to foot behind them, and she wouldn’t be able to do much for Fenris. Hawke was the best out of all of them at not pissing Fenris off, but it looked like Anders was the only one for it now.

He approached Fenris cautiously, worried he’d snap out of his trance and try to kill Anders, but he didn’t even seem to register his presence. “Fenris?” he said. Nothing. He bent down slightly to peer under the white hair obscuring his eyes. They were wide.

For some reason, he only recognised then that Fenris was still panicking. He was still shaking and he was breathing heavily enough for Anders to hear it, and he hadn’t heard Anders call his name. He was having a panic attack.

_Oh, Maker_. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it better or worse if I tried to do something. It was probably magic that had caused it, and seeing a mage wouldn’t help that. Unless it was Hawke, maybe. But Fenris’s breathing was getting quicker and shallower and he’d started swaying and he’d probably faint if he didn’t do something about it.

“Fenris,” he tried. He didn’t want to grab him; that might make it worse. “Look at me, all right? Hey, look at me.” Fenris blinked a few times and dragged his eyes up to meet Anders’s. He didn’t freak out right away, so Anders counted that as a good sign. “Good, just keep looking at me, okay? Listen, you’re safe now.” It felt… weird to say this to Fenris. He’d had to give similar speeches to others before, but he never thought he’d be giving it to _Fenris_. Although he wasn’t always in control of himself, he’d never had a panic attack before. This was… this was just strange. He felt kind of embarrassed to realise he didn’t think Fenris was capable of having a panic attack. It wasn’t as if he lacked reason. “The bandits are dead.” He didn’t mention the one Hawke was talking to. He’d probably be dead in a minute anyway. “No one left here is going to hurt you. It’s safe.” He paused. “ _You’re_ safe.”

“An…” Fenris started, voice softer than Anders had ever heard it and – was he about to say his name? But he stopped, blinked again, and looked around.

“No, look at me,” Anders said, hoping it didn’t sound… threatening, or something. Was it even possible for him to threaten Fenris? Okay, well. Given Fenris’s past… maybe _Anders_ couldn’t threaten Fenris, but he could be threatening. As a mage. A reminder. It angered him. Obviously. That Fenris hated mages on principal, that he associated Anders with his former master. Anders had been a victim too. He’d been locked away and repressed and threatened with solitude or forced servitude his entire life. If he stepped out of line, he’d be made Tranquil. And it was unfair that this elf who didn’t even know him judged him. But… he shouldn’t really forget that Fenris _had_ been through a lot. And Hawke had been the first person to really accept and try to change that. That was probably why, even though he was a mage too, Fenris didn’t mind him.

Maybe if Anders had been more open-minded…

What? No. He was the one who should be more open-minded? They’d known each other for less than five minutes before Fenris had started—

Now wasn’t the time. Fenris was looking at him, like he’d told him to, but was still struggling to breathe and, well, as long as he wasn’t glaring there was something wrong.

“It’s safe now,” he continued, forcing himself back. “Hawke is here – Hawke is _fine_. And so is Merrill.” He wasn’t sure if Fenris would care to know about anyone’s wellbeing aside from Hawke’s, but maybe hearing more familiar names would help.

“And – the mage, he…” he trailed off and Anders wondered if he’d started saying his name again or if it was just ‘and’. “You are fine as well?”

At least he recognised him now. Anders managed a small smile, for some reason. “Yes, I am. And so are you.” His eyes trailed over all the scrapes and gashes littering Fenris’s body. “Well, mostly.”

Fenris swallowed, or tried to. And then managed it the second time.

“Breathe slowly, okay? Breathe in… keep going,” he instructed, still monumentally surprised his words were being listened to. “Good. Hold it… and breathe out. Slowly. Don’t rush. Just breathe. You’re safe.”

He was still shaking slightly, but his breathing was less ragged. Anders sighed in relief, then turned to see Hawke standing over the bandit’s body.

“Hawke!” he called, gesturing for the man to come over. Hawke glanced between him and Fenris, then ran to them, Merrill just behind.

“Oh, Fenris,” Merrill said, clenching her small fists and leaning forwards, but still out of Fenris’s space. “Are you okay?” she paused, before quickly saying, “Stupid question. Sorry. I’ll just shut up now.”

Hawke didn’t seem to grasp the space rule and reached out to grasp Fenris’s shoulder. Fenris jumped violently and Anders was about to berate Hawke before Fenris relaxed slightly.

“You all right there, Fenris? Everything’s fine now,” Hawke assured him.

Fenris blinked up at him, eyes still too wide. “Ah… yes. I’m fine, Hawke.”

He said his name so easily.

“We should leave,” Anders suggested when the silence lingered too long. He didn’t feel like sticking around the dead bodies, and it probably wasn’t good for Fenris right now either.

Hawke looked back at him. “Yes, let’s head back to Kirkwall,” he agreed. “You’re all right too, Anders?”

Anders couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, Hawke. I’m fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Fenris ever go to the Hanged Man? Does he ever interact more with Anders? Does he end up getting a cat in the next chapter? Find out on the next exciting episode of Dragon Ball--
> 
> Wait.

Fenris was torn.

He trailed behind Hawke and the others, glaring at the ground as if it had wronged him. Hawke pronounced that they should all go meet Varric and Isabela at the Hanged Man because, well, where else would they be? After missions, Hawke always wanted to see Varric. He couldn’t really blame him; the dwarf was probably the best person out of the lot of them. _Maybe it’s because he’s incapable of magic_ , Fenris briefly considered, and then shook his head. Hawke was… the kindest person he had ever met. At first, he thought that it was impossible for him to be so… so _nice_ without something being wrong. After all, what had magic touched that it had not spoiled?

He said that to Hawke once, and still felt guilty when he remembered the look on his face.

Hawke. It hadn’t spoilt Hawke. Could anything? The man had seen his sister murdered by an ogre, his brother leave him for the Templars… which, Fenris had to admit, must have hurt. He was surprised when he’d heart it himself. Both Hawke and his sister were mages. How could Carver want to become a Templar? But, as always, Hawke was the most infuriatingly understanding man in Thedas. After Carver had left, he’d assured his mother that it would all be fine – besides, Carver was safer this way! Probably. And even though he cried into his ale all night, he still said, “He was tired of living in my shadow. I never saw it that way, but that was how it felt to him. He… needed to do something for himself. Be his own man. Mother and I are already proud of him, but he’ll probably never see that.”

So. Not all mages were heartless, a fact Hawke had evidently proven which greatly pissed Fenris off. Because he just – why had he known so many… so many _awful_ ones, when people like Hawke existed?

He knew that not all mages were like Danarius. But how could you tell which ones were and were not? For his own safety, he had to assume that they were untrustworthy. He only came to know Hawke wasn’t after knowing him for years. The trials he’d faced proved that he had the willpower to withstand a demon’s temptations; that he could stay in control. But every other damned mage they met was a blood mage. One _travelled_ with them. Spent her time with them in the Hanged Man. Had gained the acceptance of Hawke.

And so had the other mage in their company. Anders. Contrary to the mage’s belief, Fenris hadn’t outright hated him when they first met. Not that he’d tell him that now. Of course, he had the same mistrust towards him that he had when he met Hawke, but he couldn’t _help_ that. Then, he supposed he shouldn’t expect every mage he met to understand his wariness about them. Not that he cared if they did. But Hawke had understood, and still hung around, and although he defended mages he also grasped that the power could be dangerous. He didn’t go around defending every mage, every one he’d never known, like Anders did.

“Fenris!”

He jumped and blinked up at Hawke. “Ah… yes?”

Hawke’s brows knitted together. “Are you sure you’re all right? I called your name five times.” He reached out to put his hand against Fenris’s forehead, but he flinched before he could. Hawke froze, looking hurt and worried.

“I… apologise,” Fenris mumbled, hating himself for his reaction. What was that about? Hawke would never hurt him, he _knew_ that. “I’m just… tired.”

Hawke didn’t look convinced, but didn’t want to press. He never did. He was too polite and it was… it was annoying, sometimes. Sometimes Fenris _wanted_ him to push. “All right,” he said, forcing a small smile. “I suppose you’re not up for drinks, then?”

Fenris’s eyes flickered over to the two mages behind him. Merrill was glancing around as if this was the first time she’d seen these blasted mountains. The same ones they ventured up every few weeks because of slavers or mages or _something_. He looked at Anders – and then tore his gaze away just as quickly, because he was looking back. Ugh, Maker.

“Fenris.”

“No,” he said quickly. “I think I’d rather go back to the mansion.”

Hawke still looked concerned, and Fenris hated that he was the one to cause that expression. “You sure you’re completely healed—?”

“I’m fine,” he assured him. He hadn’t been wounded really. But he felt… unclean. His skin itched, especially his jaw where that man had touched him. He scratched at it absently.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see you later then,” Hawke said after a pause. He grasped Fenris’s shoulder again and smiled at him. “Remember, I’m here if you need me. You know where to find me.”

Fenris tried not to lean into the touch. “I… thank you. Hawke.”

 

* * *

 

He woke with a gasp.

He felt his wrists and neck. Nothing there. He wasn’t hurting anywhere.

He was in a cold, pitch black mansion. Alone.

He was fine.

Swallowing thickly, he buried his head in his hands and scratched at his scalp. A single white hair fell from his head. He blinked and for a moment it looked black.

_Black hair. A tan hand ruffling it. His name on someone’s lips, but he couldn’t hear it. Mother?_

The room was spinning. What should he – breathe. Anders… He remembered Anders telling him to breathe. Stupidly obvious, why did he forget that? He didn’t need the mage to tell him that. But he did it anyway, remembering Anders’s face as he did.

Breathe in.

Hold it.

Breathe out.

Everything finally stopped spinning after he repeated it a few times, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and sleep again. His eyes stung and his body ached, but he didn’t want to sleep. It was… It hurt more. And the flashes of memories were troubling. Were they even memories? What if he was becoming so desperate that he was just making things up?

He’d been squatting in Danarius’s mansion for _years_ now, and there was no sign of him. But Fenris knew he hadn’t given up. It wasn’t Fenris who was particularly important to him, but the lyrium carved into his flesh. The marks flashed blue as hot fury jolted through him.

“Why did you force it upon me when you’ll just kill me to take it back?” he snarled, but the darkness didn’t respond. He glared darkly at the markings, which were still glowing faintly. “I didn’t want this,” he whispered as the light faded. He buried his face in his hands and curled into himself. “I didn’t want this.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Fenris still hadn’t left the mansion.

Hawke hadn’t come by with any sheepish requests; Merrill hadn’t frantically come to ask him to help because Hawke was in trouble again; Aveline hadn’t stopped by (because she was “in the neighbourhood”) to lecture him about the state of the mansion; and neither Varric nor Isabela had come to invite him to the Hanged Man.

Not that it mattered. He finally got a break from wasting his time travelling with dangerous mages and annoying voices that made his ears ring. Not to mention, he hadn’t seen any blood magic since he’d been holed up inside. Danarius’s mansion was one of the safest places to be in Kirkwall, apparently. He snorted at the thought, and then paused. Was he starting to talk to himself? Isn’t that was Anders and his demon did?

He scowled and shook his head. Why did he keep thinking about them all? He was finally away from them, and he—

He what? Was sitting alone in his dimly lit mansion and couldn’t sleep.

He hated to admit it, but… being with the others at the Hanged Man, and even on the road, was better than… than this.

This was why he didn’t want to get _involved_ with anyone. He fled to Kirkwall for safety, for a place where he could lay low, and somehow he’d gotten wrapped up in Hawke’s life. And everyone else’s. He was… _affected_ by them. And didn’t want to be. Had never intended to be. And now he – he wanted to be around them. He’d become dependent on their company, and it was pathetic. Weak.

He let out a guttural growl as he slammed his empty bottle against the floor.

He couldn’t keep thinking about such things. They were all distracting him from his goal and he just wanted to _sleep_.

He grabbed his sword and stormed out of the mansion.

 

* * *

 

He stood outside Anders’s clinic for ten minutes before entering.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand there,” said the mage, looking up from someone’s arm he was bandaging with a small smirk. “There you go, all done. You’ll live to fight another day,” he said to the young boy whose arm he’d been bandaging.

Fenris scowled, but before he could reply the child had dashed past him and he had to sidestep to avoid crashing into him.

“Well, get on with it. What can I do for you?” Anders asked, not even bothering to look at him as he went to wash his hands.

Fenris shifted his weight from foot to foot and glared at the ground. How was he going to ask the mage? He’d tried to plan his words on his way there, but everything sounded… like he needed help. Which he did, but he didn’t intend to _sound_ that way.

“I haven’t got all day, you know.” Fenris looked up to see Anders watching him, brows raised in expectancy. “Did you come here just to antagonise me with your presence, or did you actually have a reason?”

“You believe I would come all the way to Darktown just to stand here and annoy you?” Fenris muttered, frowning.

“It sounds a bit over the top,” Anders admitted, folding his arms. “But then again, you can be quite dramatic.”

“Says the mage who tried to escape the Circle seven times.”

“And succeeded,” Anders finished for him, looking both bored and irritated. “You know, if you’re here to ask for my help, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Fenris blinked and scowled, looking down for a moment. It was too easy to start arguments with Anders. The mage just… _said_ things that he couldn’t just ignore. He talked to Fenris as if his presence was unworthy. He couldn’t not talk back. He couldn’t simply accept the remarks in silence as he was taught to do.

But… Anders was… partially correct. He did need the healer’s help. Why did he have to be a healer? The volatile mage with a demon residing inside of him. He was the one Fenris had to go to for aid.

“I have…” he started, voice quieter than usual. Anders stared at him and he shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “I have been… I’ve…” He growled, annoyed at his incoherency and embarrassed to be babbling in front of _him_. “I’ve had… trouble. Sleeping.” He crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

“You’re not the only one,” Anders remarked lightly, raising his eyebrows again. “And yet you’re not the one staying up all hours to help people. In fact, you just lock yourself away and ignore all knocks at your door. Save for Hawke’s,” he added in a faux apologetic tone when Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Not that anyone else bothers to knock. It’s so quiet that they probably assume it’s uninhabited. Unless they know better, in which case they all know to avoid the ignorant, angry elf.”

Fenris inhaled slowly. He had thought… “Since you helped me… before,” he muttered, “I thought you might…” He snorted wryly and shook his head. “Well, I was wrong to. It is my fault for assuming a mage would be anything but selfish.” He turned abruptly and yanked the door open. It rattled and shook. Any rats outside the clinic scurried away at the sudden noise. He moved to leave but a hand on his shoulder wrenched him back around. He growled and grabbed the mage’s wrist. “What do you think you’re—?”

“You always do that!” Anders snapped, eyes wide and burning. “You’re too _ashamed_ to ask for my help because I’m a mage, so you attack me to make yourself feel better.”

Fenris’s shoulders stiffened and he glared furiously, tightening his hold on Anders’s wrist. “I told you my problem and you chose to make fun of me,” he hissed, digging his nails into his skin. Anders winced. “Now get your hands off of me.” He threw Anders’s hand off of his shoulder and the mage staggered back.

Fenris turned and left, refusing to look down until he was out of sight.

 

* * *

 

There was a leak in his ceiling.

He’d been lying in bed since he’d returned, but hadn’t slept. He couldn’t help but listen to the constant _drip, drip, drip_. It was pouring outside and the shambling roof couldn’t keep it all out. He wasn’t sure if he had any buckets to catch the water in, but he didn’t really care to look. It was just water.

He tried to bury himself in his blanket, but stiffened when he heard a knock at the door.

Really? At this time? _What do you want now, Hawke?_

Still, he threw the covers off and padded downstairs, rubbing his arms to try and keep warm. He sighed as he heard another knock.

“I’m coming, Hawke—” he said as he opened the door, only to fall short when he saw a soaking wet mage shivering on his doorstep. His brows immediately dropped. “Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘oh’?” Anders asked, exhaling shakily. “Would you let me in? It’s surprisingly freezing out here.”

Fenris contemplated slamming the door in the mage’s face, but he didn’t. Maybe because Hawke would know it was him and get exasperated, maybe because he didn’t want to prove Anders right by being overdramatic… but really, he didn’t know why. He held the door open by leaning against it, and Anders stumbled in and dripped all over the floor.

It was already damp anyway, but. It pissed him off that Anders got it wet.

“It’s almost as freezing in here as it is out there,” Anders mumbled, rubbing his own arms. He was clad in his usual attire, which must have been warmer than Fenris’s thin tunic and leggings at the very least. But it was cold in here, he wasn’t wrong.

“It is,” Fenris agreed, “so perhaps it’s better for all of us if you leave.”

Anders stared at him blankly for a moment before sighing. He ran a hand through his wet hair and… Fenris didn’t know why he noticed that. He looked away. “Yes, yes, I’ll leave you to brood in your cold mansion soon, I know your time is precious,” he said, rifling through his coat as he said it. Fenris’s ears pricked up at the sound of Anders’s nails hitting glass. He held out a blue potion inside a phial and Fenris stared at it for a moment. “It’s not poison,” Anders offered. Fenris scowled. “It’s a sleeping draught,” he explained, waggling it in front of him.

“I can manage,” Fenris muttered.

“No, you can’t,” said Anders, “which is why you came to me.” Fenris glared, narrowing his eyes. “Look,” he said, sighing. “I was, admittedly, a bit of an arse earlier. You came to me for help and I shouldn’t have responded the way I did. So. Peace offering?” He pushed the phial towards Fenris and, when he reached out gingerly and took it, Anders smiled.

Fenris looked at the phial, and then at Anders. “You can leave now.”

The smile was gone. “Really? No ‘thank you’ or anything?” Fenris just scowled and gestured to the door with a tilt of his head. Anders glanced outside to see the harsh wind blowing the rain inside. “The rain’s pretty bad out there.”

“It is.” They looked at each other for a moment before Fenris groaned, shutting his eyes as if trying to ward off a headache. “You came all the way here in that, so you could just as easily go all the way back.”

“I could – even easier – stay safely out of that bloody storm.”

“Not here.”

“Hawke wouldn’t like it if his healer got sick,” Anders reasoned.

“He’d like it even less if his healer mysteriously disappeared,” Fenris replied, eyes narrowed.

Anders eyed him for a moment before shaking his head and sighing. “Anyone else would have let me stay,” he said, approaching the door.

“I am not ‘anyone else’.”

Anders glanced back at him, frowning. “No, you’re not.”

The door slammed shut, and more raindrops fell from the ceiling. Fenris rolled his eyes. Who was the dramatic one, again?

Still…

He looked at the phial in his hand and gripped it tighter.

At least he’d be able to sleep tonight.

 

* * *

 

He actually wasn’t exhausted today. He was awoken by Hawke at his door again, but the shroud of sleepy confusion was a welcome feeling. He’d missed it. So, with messy hair and wider eyes than usual, he met Hawke at the door and Hawke stared at him for a while before saying, “Somebody’s sparkling.”

And then Fenris stopped feeling bright-eyed and forced himself to scowl. “Sparkling,” he repeated derisively.

Hawke smiled lopsidedly at him, hands on his hips. “You just look… better than you have done recently, Fenris.” And then his smile was softer and Fenris had to look away and, well, somehow he’d ended up accompanying him. Again.

“I can’t believe it’s still raining,” Hawke said, gazing up at the sky with such sadness that he seemed personally betrayed by it.

“Puppy eyes won’t work on the sky, sweet thing,” Isabela said with a small smile. She’d been smiling more lately. Not the sly smirk she used to direct towards them all, or the threatening ones she sent to men who eyed her up at the _Hanged Man_ , but actually smiling.

Hawke’s influence, no doubt.

“Caves again?” Anders asked, lip curling at the sight of the approaching hole in the ground.

“Afraid so,” Hawke replied, grinning sheepishly. “Ser Thrask asked me to—”

“Ser Thrask,” Anders interrupted, scowling. “And why should we be doing something for Ser Thrask? Did you forget that you are also a mage, Hawke? Look, there’s a staff on your back. It even glows sometimes.”

Hawke pressed his lips together. “Actually, he asked if we’d help the mages in there,” he said. He glanced between both Anders and Fenris and sighed, muttering something to himself.

Anders blinked. “Oh.”

Fenris fought the urge to ask if they were _actually_ going to help the mages. He knew the answer already.

 

* * *

 

He swiped blood off of his cheek. It wasn’t even his. A blood mage had carved at themselves and before she could perform the spell, Fenris had carved through her with his sword. He couldn’t – wouldn’t let those spells hit any of them. Isabela was fairly safe, skulking in the shadows before sliding her knives into someone’s back; Hawke had a barrier around himself…

Anders was in the middle of three mages, his rock armour crumbling around him.

“Useless mage!” Fenris shouted, running forwards and slicing through two of the bastards. They crumpled to the ground, unmoving. The last one vanished before he could hit him, though, and Fenris staggered with his massive sword. Anders stared at him, eyes wide, and Fenris met his gaze, panting heavily, before he caught a flash of white – “MOVE!” He barrelled into Anders, who stumbled out of the way. Fenris caught the brunt of the attack, thrown back against the wall by the force of it, and immediately crouched over to clutch at his side. Agh, Maker, that _stung_ …

“Fenris!”

Was that Hawke? Or Anders?

Feet appeared in his vision and Fenris had to blink a few times to focus. It was a mage, and not one of his allies.

He forced himself to stand and grip his sword. The mage in front of him stared at him with wide, terrified eyes and it just made Fenris angrier. The bastard was casting blood magic, had already inflicted this wound on him, and had the nerve to look at _him_ with fear?

The mage’s hands were shaking, and before he could cast anything, Fenris thrust his blade through his chest.

He let his blade fall to his side and grabbed at his wound again. He coughed, chest rattling, and peered down at his hand. It was covered in blood.

“Fenris! You all right?” Hawke called, running over to him. They must have bested their enemies, then.

“Well…” he mumbled, “at least I’m not dead.”

“You could’ve been,” Isabela supplied, flicking her knives to get the blood off of them.

“You _almost_ were!” Anders snapped, barging past them both to storm up to Fenris. He crouched down to examine the wound and cursed. “Blood magic.”

“Obviously,” Fenris said, uncomfortable with the close proximity. He already had more than enough mages around him for the day, he didn’t need this one so close to his wound. “We should move on,” he suggested, trying to move away, but his back was already against the cave wall.

“Not while you’re bleeding like this!” Anders said. For just a second, there was a spark of blue in his eyes. “I know it’s hard for you not to be incredibly stupid and self-absorbed, but if you don’t let me heal this wound you’ll just make it harder for all of us to fight.”

Fenris glowered darkly, clutching his side even tighter and forcing himself not to cringe as the sting jolted through his whole body. “I am not a burden.”

“What Anders _means_ ,” Hawke said sternly, “is that we don’t want you hurting when you don’t need to be. Let him heal you, Fenris. You’ll fight better that way.” When Fenris still seemed unwilling to relent, Hawke added a lame, “Please?”

“We don’t want your lovely body harmed,” Isabela chimed in, leaning against Hawke’s shoulder.

They seemed so… calm. As if there was nothing to worry about with their healer around.

“Fine,” Fenris conceded, letting his hand drop. Blood dripped from it.

“Would it kill you to go unscathed sometimes?” Anders muttered as his hands drifted over the wound. “I spend half my time healing you. No wonder I have to carry so many lyrium potions.”

“I don’t _ask_ you to,” Fenris spat, then grit his teeth as the warm tendrils of magic stitched his skin back together.

“Well, maybe you should.”

It still ached with each step, but it was closed and the only blood left was on his hands. He wiped them on his leather leggings, but it refused to leave his skin. It was always hard to get off. He knew his blood was on Anders’s hands too, and he wasn’t sure if he felt vindicated or annoyed by that.

They found the blood mage leading their little escape attempt and swiftly dealt with him. Bound by a ring of gravity, it was difficult for him to evade their attacks. Fenris took some pleasure in cutting of the bastard’s head. When he’d caught sight of the mage’s grey hair and hollow eyes, he couldn’t help but see—

It didn’t matter.

But this just made Fenris more… confused. How could Anders possibly defend mages when so many of them turned to blood magic? Sure, not every single mage resorted to it, but so many _did_. Even if they were the minority, they still did so much damage that it was hard to just… accept magic. Because it could be twisted into something so sinister and frightening, so out of control that the wielders themselves couldn’t handle it.

He didn’t _understand_.

Hawke was different. He was an outlier. Anders was… possibly not quite as bad as some mages. He wasn’t a blood mage. He might even be redeemable if it weren’t for the demon inside of him. And the incessant whining about injustice against mages, and how every case in which mages were wronged were going straight into his one-sided manifesto, and his… idiocy.

One of Anders’s own friends was made Tranquil, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been there, but Hawke had mentioned it when he’d drank too much and tried to persuade Fenris that they weren’t all bad. But it only made him question it more. One of Anders’s _own friends_ was made Tranquil, and he was expected to believe it wasn’t out of punishment for some kind of transgression?

He glanced at Anders as they stepped out into the light, finally free of the damned cave. “Why was your friend made Tranquil? Do you know?”

Anders looked back at him suspiciously, already defensive. “No, and it doesn’t matter. Nobody deserves that.”

Fenris bristled. Nobody? The mage was always so _biased_. He couldn’t see beyond his own experiences – he refused to. He said Fenris didn’t understand what mages went through, but why should he try to when Anders never tried to understand what he’d gone through? The mage knew about Danarius, knew that Fenris had been his slave, knew that slaves weren’t treated well, and yet he still said _nobody_ deserved it? “I know some mages that deserve that,” he said.

_Grey hair. A smirk on thin lips. Hot, blinding, agonising pain. His first memory._

“Really?” Anders replied with fake blitheness, and his voice shook Fenris from the memory. “Perhaps they should start making slaves Tranquil—then they wouldn’t dream of escaping! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. He heard the sarcasm, knew the mage didn’t mean it, but it was _wrong_. “Slaves do not attract demons that try to possess them.” It was true, Anders couldn’t argue with that; he was harbouring one himself. That wasn’t even his point. Not at the beginning, anyway. He didn’t understand. Hawke always explained; Anders just accused. He just meant that he’d known magisters in Tevinter who were worthy of such punishment. He’d rather kill Danarius, really, but as a solution to blood mages? Yes, being made Tranquil seemed reasonable. But no, Anders wouldn’t hear the reason in his words, just the accusation. If he was so defensive, he had something to be defensive about.

Anders snorted. “Which clearly justifies it! What a perfect solution.” He shook his head and quickened his pace.

Fenris didn’t try to catch up.

. . . . . .

_Fingers on lyrium. Fingers on skin. In his mouth, in his hair, grabbing, pulling – hurts, it hurts—_

_“Be good, Fenris.”_

_Don’t fight it. Be good. Don’t fight, don’t move. Be good. Be good and it will all be fine. Just be good._

_Hands. Everywhere. On his skin. It hurts. It feels weird. I don’t want it, I don’t like it, what is this, I don’t WANT THIS—_

He was heaving before he could even breathe. Choking on air and coughing before he threw up. He couldn’t stop coughing because he couldn’t start breathing. He needed air, needed—

He couldn’t—

He wretched again, almost convulsing, stomach heaving with the effort to get rid of – of _something_ , he didn’t know what, but he needed to get it out.

_“Be good.”_

“Get out, get out, get out – LEAVE ME.”

His lyrium flashed blue, illuminating the room for a second, and he saw no one. Nobody was there but him.

He was alone.

He was safe.

He let himself learn to breathe again before forcing himself out of bed. He had to clean up.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t feel much like going with Hawke today. His throat was scratchy from last night and he hadn’t slept afterwards; he’d already used up the sleeping draught Anders gave him. He wanted more, but he couldn’t ask the mage. Not after last time. Not after their last… discussion.

He still remembered the burning feeling in his chest and could still… taste it. He couldn’t be sick again, not in front of everyone. It was weak. Hawke would send him home. Or worse, to Anders.

Speaking of which, why was he here? He thought Hawke would want to separate them after their last conversation, but he seemed perfectly content with ignoring them for now. When someone was concerned enough to try and intervene (usually Aveline or Sebastian), Hawke would just chuckle and refer to their debates as “banter”.

Why did he feel the need to make light of everything?

“You all right there, Broody?” Varric asked, raising a brow and tilting his head. “I’d think you drank too much, but I haven’t seen you lurking in the corner of the Hanged Man recently.”

“I do not _lurk_ ,” Fenris replied, choosing not to give the real question an answer.

Varric sighed. “If you say so,” he said. “But just so you know, everyone’s worried about you. You don’t have to drink that aggregio pavali by yourself.”

“You only wish for me to share it because you know the ale at your pub is watered down and dirty,” Fenris said.

Varric’s lips twitched. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But you still get drunk off of it.”

Before Fenris could respond, he bumped into the back of – Anders. Of course. Wonderful.

Anders looked back at him and Fenris took two deliberate strides back, scowling. Anders rolled his eyes but didn’t comment, and Fenris almost asked why the moron stopped before seeing it for himself.

He stepped forward, clenching his fists. “Hunters,” he muttered.

“Stop right there!” a man shouted from up on the Cliffside. Fenris looked up to meet brown eyes he didn’t recognise. “You are in possession of stolen property. Back away from the slave now and you’ll be spared.”

For a moment, Fenris wanted to run. He felt his legs twitch. But then Hawke was next to him. “Fenris is a free man,” Hawke said, voice dangerously low. “You’ll not have him.”

“I won’t repeat myself,” the man said. “Back away from the slave now!”

“Didn’t you just repeat yourself?” Anders muttered scathingly.

“I am not your slave!” Fenris snarled, lyrium flaring blue against his skin as he drew his sword and charged for the group of hunters. He sliced down all the ones in his path, throwing his sword around furiously, not planning his steps or swings but just beating down on them, carving at them until none were left alive – except one. Fenris marched up to him and dragged him up by the neck. “Where. Is. He.”

“Please don’t kill me,” the hunter gasped out, shaking beneath him. He was still young, possibly his age. Maybe younger. And already hunting slaves.

Fenris growled and slammed his head against the ground. “Tell me!”

The hunter coughed but quickly said, “I don’t know! I don’t know, I swear. Hadriana brought us… She’s at the holding caves, north of the city. I can show you the way.” It sounded like a question. Like a plea.

But nobody had ever listened to his pleas back when—

“No need. I know which caves you speak of,” Fenris said, loosening his grip on the boy’s neck.

“The let me go. I beg you. I swear I won’t—”

“You chose the wrong master,” he spat, cracking his neck. The boy fell to the ground, limp, and Fenris stood abruptly. He didn’t turn to see the disappointment in Hawke’s and Varric’s faces, the accusation in Anders’s. “Hadriana…” he snarled. “I was a _fool_ to think I was free. They’ll never let me be!” He breathed heavily, clenching his fists tightly and embedding his nails into his palms.

“Is this someone you know?” Hawke asked.

Fenris steeled himself and turned to meet his eyes. “My old master’s apprentice,” he explained. He hated having to refer to him as his old master. The word just – didn’t sit right. “I remember her well: a snivelling social climber that would sell her own children if she thought it would please Danarius.” He scoffed. “If she’s here, it’s at his bidding. I knew he wouldn’t let this go!” His fists shook. He felt sick again.

“They need to be stopped before this goes any further,” Hawke said, amber eyes glinting with repressed anger.

Fenris forced himself to breathe. To fight, he had to be at least somewhat rational. “The holding caves held slaves in the old times, but apparently they are no longer abandoned. We must go quickly, before Hadriana has a chance to prepare… or flee.” What if she was gone by the time they got there? This was his first lead to Danarius in years. If it slipped away, he’d have to go back to waiting, sword readied at each creak of the floorboards, looking over his shoulder everywhere he went—

A hand on his shoulder steadied him. “Fenris,” said Hawke, “it’s okay. We’ll find her.”

He swallowed thickly. “Yes,” he agreed, “we will.” _We have to._

He refused to look at Anders. The mage probably _wanted_ those hunters to get him. And now he was seeing Fenris’s… He saw these hunters, hired to recapture a _slave_. He was going to see Hadriana, the woman who had tortured him when Danarius was too busy. He was going to see all of the things that forced Fenris to relive being a slave. It was humiliating. He didn’t want anybody to see such things, but Anders was an especially unwelcome presence in that moment.

But there were no snide remarks. Not yet, anyway. So they walked on, and Fenris’s heart felt heavier the whole way. He wasn’t sure if anyone had spoken throughout their journey through the cave, couldn’t hear much over the blood rushing through his ears. He fought his way through mechanically: every enemy here was an obstacle preventing him from finding Hadriana. Finding Danarius. Finding freedom.

But his senses returned to him when they stumbled upon a young elf girl, barely holding herself together. “Did they touch you?” he asked immediately, not getting too close. “Are you hurt?” he rephrased. That first question was too… too much.

She blinked several times, wide eyes shining with tears. “They’ve been killing everyone! They cut Papa… bled him!”

“Why would they do this?” he asked, almost to himself, but still wanting answers.

“It’s a demon at work,” Anders cut in, and Fenris turned to him, surprised he’d spoken. “By this point, there’s nothing human left inside.”

He frowned. “Your demon… doesn’t do such things.”

Anders scowled back, but didn’t seem as irate as he usually was. “He’s a spirit. Of justice,” he added. “He would never do anything like this. These people are no longer people.”

“The magister…” the girl interrupted before Fenris could respond to Anders. “She said she needed power, that someone was coming to kill her.”

This was… his fault?

Fenris’s brows furrowed as he hung his head. He couldn’t look at her. It was partly his fault that this girl had lost her father. Hadriana _knew_ … Of course she did. Of course.

“We tried to be good,” the girl continued, as if it was _her_ liability. “We did everything we were told! She loved Papa’s soup. I… don’t understand…”

He didn’t want to be around this girl. In this cave. She sounded so much like – like he used to.

_“I didn’t… mean to upset you, Master—”_

No, that wasn’t him anymore.

“Is the magister still here?” Hawke intervened. Fenris focused on his voice.

“I think so… The magister said they were to prepare for battle… I think she’s very frightened!”

“She has every reason to be,” he snarled.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Please don’t hurt her. She’ll be so angry if you hurt her!” She bit her lip and grabbed her arm. No doubt where she’d been hit before.

Hawke looked disturbed. “This has been terrible for you,” he said softly, not knowing what else to say.

The girl shook her head, confused. “Everything was fine until today!”

Fenris shut his eyes. “It wasn’t,” he said, “you just didn’t know any better.” He’d been so foolish.

She blinked up at him and stepped cautiously towards him. “Are you my master now?” she asked.

His eyes widened. “No!” he said, horrified, holding his hands up and stepping back.

“But…” She looked bemused. “I can cook. I can clean! What else will I do?” she asked, lost. She had nowhere else. Her parents had obviously been slaves too. Fenris hadn’t known what to do when he’d escaped either. He was just… lucky to find…

Hawke took her hand gently and smiled at her. “If you go to Kirkwall, I can help you.”

“Yes? Oh, praise the Maker! Thank you,” she breathed, eyes brightening before she ran from the cave.

Fenris shot a glare at Hawke. “I didn’t realise you were in the market for a slave,” he bit out. Had he – no, he was overreacting (damn it, Anders was right), Hawke wasn’t like that.

Hawke frowned back at him. “I gave her a job, Fenris.”

“Ah.” Well, he sounded foolish. And irrational. “Then… that’s good. My apologies. Then let’s find Hadriana, and be done with this place,” he said quickly. He wanted this to be over with. Anders had heard that entire exchange and… and it – he just didn’t want to be here anymore.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he saw her face, his skin burned blue and he charged towards her, tearing at her with his sword.

_Smiling, smirking, taunting. “Wake up, Fenris… no time to sleep.” The scent of tomatoes, kept away from him. Nothing. Nothing. Please._

“Stop!” she cried, voice too similar to the one echoing in his head like a ghost. “You do not want me dead,” she panted, staring at his sword.

_The same eyes, behind a cage, watching him as he fought with chains to reach the food—_

He grit his teeth. “There is only one person I want dead more.”

“I have information, elf, and I will trade it in return for my life,” she offered, licking sweat off her lips.

He sneered. “The location of Danarius? What good will that do me? I’d rather he lose his pet pupil.” He inched his blade closer to her throat.

“You have a sister,” she blurted. “She is alive.”

He froze.

“You wish to reclaim your life? Let me go, and I will tell you where she is,” she said, sitting up cautiously.

Hawke stood beside Fenris, narrowing his eyes at her. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t,” she chuckled, and Fenris wanted to tear her heart out. “But I know Fenris,” she said, smirking, as if she had a right. As if she – she thought she _knew_ him. _Nobody_ did, not even _he_ did. “And I know what he’s searching for. If he wants me to betray Danarius, he’ll have to pay for it.”

“This is your call,” Hawke said, watching him.

“Tell me,” Fenris ordered, trying to restrain himself from forcing his hand through her chest.

“So I have your word? I’ll tell you and you’ll let me go?” she said, desperate as he used to be when he wanted some food, some water – and now here she was, begging for her life at the feet of a former slave.

“Yes,” he spat, “you have my word.”

“Her name is Varania,” she immediately divulged, “she in Qarinus serving a magister by the name of Ahriman.” After all those years she spent sucking up to Danarius, an ingratiating snake, and here she was, selling this information for her life.

“A servant. Not a slave,” he murmured, relieved his sister at least had been spared the injustice.

“She’s not a slave,” Hadriana confirmed.

“I believe you,” he said, lyrium shining, and she stared at him as he thrust his fist through her and tore out her heart. He was surprised she even had one. Her gasp of shock and pain didn’t appease him as much as he thought it would. He yanked back his hand as Hadriana collapsed in a heap. “We are done here.” He turned, ready to leave. He needed to get out.

Hawke looked away from the woman’s body, looking conflicted. He hated killing, but he had to know by now that it wasn’t always his call, and it wasn’t always something he could avoid. “You said you wouldn’t kill her!”

Fenris rounded on him, eyes wide with fury. How _dare_ he? This was the woman who’d – who’d tormented and tortured him for years, and Hawke was _judging_ him? He had no _right_. He spat on her corpse and glared heatedly at his friend. “That’s what her bloody deal was worth!” he snapped.

Varric cleared his throat. “Hawke? Maybe now isn’t a good time to offer the elf constructive criticism.”

Anders… didn’t know what to say, to be honest. He wanted to side with Hawke, call Fenris out on lying – but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Fenris had looked pissed off the entire way here, and only got more tense as they went on. Now he looked ready to panic or – or cry or something. He probably wouldn’t cry, too much pride for that. But he looked… not like Fenris.

_Ah, yes, perfect comparison there._

Hawke shut his eyes and swallowed before sighing and scratching his neck. A nervous habit. “Another negotiation won,” he tried to joke, “Good job, Fenris.”

“This could be a trap. Danarius could have sent Hadriana here to tell me about this ‘sister’. Even if he didn’t, trying to find her would still be suicide! Danarius _has_ to know about her and has to know that Hadriana knows.” Fenris paced up and down before stopping and folding his arms tightly. “But all that matters is I finally got to crush this bitch’s heart.” He clenched his fist as if he was still holding her heart. “May she rot and all the other mages with her.”

Hawke furrowed his brow but didn’t try to defend mages. Anders shook his head in disbelief. “One mage does not reflect—”

“Anders,” Hawke said sternly, holding out an arm so Anders couldn’t approach Fenris.

“Now’s not the time, Blondie,” Varric finished quietly, nodding towards the elf.

With his arms folded tightly around himself and his head bowed low as he left, he looked as much of a slave as he felt he was.

**Author's Note:**

> Arcanum is Latin for 'secrets'. Yep. idk how to title
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Hopefully I won't be too lazy to write more of this! ; u ; I'm not good at chapter fics, aha... and I'm sorry if they're really ooc. I tried?


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